


Winters That Have Never Seen the Spring

by starry19



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-11 04:54:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15965150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starry19/pseuds/starry19
Summary: "From her perspective, when she cared to examine things objectively, she knew there were feelings there. On his part.And on hers? It was difficult to keep denying."





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Two stories in a week? What sorcery is this? And an honest to God multi-chapter with a plot and everything? I must be feeling ill. I’m sort of into this, so look for pretty regular updates. Hooray!

She had suspected what she had meant to him for a long time. 

What she was just now beginning to realize what she _still_ meant to him. 

Before…she had been a bit of a guiding light for him. The way to take down Rittenhouse, the path he was going to take to avenge his family. Her words - the words she had yet to write - had been the only thing he’d had faith in for years. 

But. 

Now. 

Now he knew her, the person she really was, not the larger than life heroine that he had been nearly worshipping. Her. The one who was terrible at cooking and a pretty big klutz and who occasionally got drunk to deal with her problems.

From her perspective, when she cared to examine things objectively, she knew there were feelings there. 

On his part. 

And on hers?

It was difficult to keep denying. Difficult to pretend it was one-sided when she spent the night talking to him, or when she found herself instinctively looking for him, or when she sobbed into his chest on one of the worst nights of her life. 

More difficult still when she laid awake at night, wishing he was there, wishing for his warmth, his steadiness, wishing that she could fall asleep with the reassuring beat of his heart beneath her ear. It bothered her that she didn’t know what it sounded like, despite being close enough to hear it a handful of times. 

Usually, it was in some mad-capped, adrenaline fueled rush, with bullets flying. Or when she couldn’t hear anything over the sound of her own grieving. 

The sound should have been _right there._ She had seen the pounding in the hollow of his throat. And she _wanted to know_. 

It half-felt like a betrayal of Wyatt, who loved her, too, and whom she had loved as well. But she couldn’t even stand the idea of being touched by him now. 

So blind. Such a fool.

She wasn’t sure who she was talking about - Wyatt or herself. 

Both were true, regardless. 

A frustrated sigh escaped her, and she flipped to her stomach. She didn’t want to think about Wyatt, was getting very good at _not_ thinking about him. Instead, she turned her mind to Flynn with frightening ease. 

What was he doing? Probably sleeping, like a normal person did at this time. 

She wondered. Was he on his side? Back? Did he have a shirt on? Did he wrap his arms around a pillow and wish it was someone he loved instead? 

What would happen if she pushed the door of his room open and crawled into bed with him? 

She forced the thought away before it could take hold. Well, much of a hold, she amended, seeing dark hair and a sensuous mouth and broad shoulders rise up in her mind’s eye. For just a heartbeat, she imagined the warm skin of his chest beneath her lips. 

She thought about it the next morning when she saw him at breakfast, hands dwarfing a coffee cup and had to look away, cheeks hot. 

It wasn’t particularly surprising that she found him attractive. Tall, dark, and handsome men that spoke with an accent were notoriously difficult to resist, and she was certainly not immune. Add into that his intelligence, sense of humor, and the fact that he had been the only thing tethering her to sanity for months now…no. Wanting him was not surprising. 

It _was_ dangerous, however. 

She had likely done enough dangerous things lately. 

The last thing she needed was to get involved with another man who was still in love with his dead wife. There was a child there, too. 

It seemed she had A Type. 

Really too bad she couldn’t have been driven mad by investment bankers or accountants who had healthy relationships with their family and past. 

And Flynn was certainly driving her mad. 

It was slightly comforting that she was doing the same to him. Did he want her? Yes, she was certain of that. 

But would he ever act on it? 

She was less certain. 

He thought himself the worst kind of monster, undeserving of the love of just about anyone. She supposed that included her. 

There were times, more and more frequently lately, that she wanted to grab him, pull his face down to hers and inform him that he was an idiot. 

She knew how tortured he was. She knew what was in his heart. She knew that he hated himself for the things he had done. 

And she still cared. 

Was that an admission? Perhaps. 

The only thing more difficult than admitting it to herself would be admitting it to him. Then again…maybe not. She imagined he would be moved, maybe, or she hoped he would be. 

He might smile in the way she had seen him do only for her. 

He might tuck her into his arms, safety and strength and peace, and tell her what she thought was in his heart. 

Or he might tell her she was all wrong. 

Or he might push her away, out of guilt or apathy or any number of things. 

And she didn’t think she could stand another broken heart. 

So lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t noticed that she was the only person left at breakfast, her coffee long since gone cold. She hoped no one had been trying to have a conversation with her, since she had probably ignored them or given entirely bizarre answers. 

Her chest hurt. 

“Hey,” came a voice from over her shoulder. “You’re still out here. Solving the world’s problems?”

Flynn, of course, sounding casual and not confrontational, the way he rarely did with other people. 

She took a deep breath, willing herself to speak normally. “I think I’m maybe just creating more problems for myself.” There, that was vague enough. 

He sat beside her, long legs stretching out under the table. If she would move another two inches, they would be touching. She considered it. 

“Anything I can help with?” he asked, looking as though he meant it. 

For a brief, unhinged moment, she thought it through. _Tell me how you feel about me. Then hold me. Let me listen to your heart beating for a while._

_Kiss me._

She didn’t know what her face looked like, but judging by Flynn’s expression of concern, it was bordering on insane. 

“Lucy?” he said, quietly, head bowed towards her. 

She waved her hand dismissively. “I’m fine,” she managed. 

His raised eyebrow told her she was fooling exactly no one, but he let it go. 

He succeeded in drawing her into conversation for a few minutes, distracting her enough that she forgot most of her haunting thoughts, except for the tiny part of her mind that was constantly wondering if his mouth was as talented as it looked or what his cologne would smell like if she put her nose in between his neck and shoulder.

Jiya, arriving in an out of breath huff was a welcome distraction, especially if the look on her face meant what she thought it did. 

Rufus. 

Wyatt, Mason, and Agent Christopher joined them shortly, Wyatt looking like he hadn’t slept in a few days. She tried to not care that much - nothing had changed between them. He was still married. He was still expecting a child. And even if love could not be turned off so easily or so logically, it didn’t meant she couldn’t try. 

With effort, she turned to the team.

Their plan, so long in forming, so hard to create, was relatively simple in practice. 

The future version of herself and Wyatt had been both helpful and maddeningly useless. But they had given the team a start. 

More importantly, they had given hope, something in alarmingly short supply. 

She listened carefully as details were hashed out. Flynn and Wyatt discussed weaponry. Historical dates and facts flitted across her mind as she considered. 

It seemed fairly straightforward. Jiya, Wyatt, and Flynn would go back to San Francisco, to Chinatown, and re-write history. The fourth seat on the Lifeboat stayed empty. They would need it, after all, if things went right. 

“I have an objection,” she said, abruptly.

Every eye stared at her. 

“Not to your plan in general,” she assured them, “but just to a few details. I’m going.” 

There was a beat of silence. “Lucy,” Wyatt started, then trailed off.

She could feel Flynn looking at her. The fact that everyone else was seemed less important. 

“I’m going,” she said again. “I’ll stay behind,” she added. “You can just send the Lifeboat back for me after we get Rufus here. What’s four hours, right?”

“Why?” Flynn asked, but calmly. 

She met his eyes. Though she hadn’t rehearsed her words, they came out perfectly. “Because if you bring Rufus back without me there, history changes. I won’t remember it, won’t remember losing him.” She paused, then lowered her voice unconsciously. “And there are some things that happened after we lost him that I don’t want to forget.” 

Emma.

Her rage. 

Her shattered cheekbone and black eye.

Flynn.

The way he had held her. 

How she had clung to him.

She saw the hope flash over his face, his hope that _he_ was the thing she wanted to remember. Didn’t try to hide it from him. 

“Alright,” he finally said, softly. 

“What?” Wyatt interrupted. “Who the hell said you get to make the decisions? It’s a stupid risk, Lucy,” he went on. “Stay here. Stay safe.” 

She shook her head. “It’s my call.” 

“Not if you’re going to risk all of our safety,” Wyatt argued. “That’s one more trip someone has to make. What happens if Rittenhouse captures you? Someone’ll have to put their ass on the line to rescue you. Again.” 

She didn’t _think_ he had meant for the emphasis on that last word, but it immediately raised her hackles. 

Under the table, Flynn pressed his knee against hers, effectively silencing whatever retort she would have made. “I’ll stay back with her,” he said, and Wyatt’s face contorted. “Let’s put it to vote,” he suggested, quickly. “We’re supposed to be a team, after all.”

In the end, Wyatt was the only dissenting vote, a fact that he was clearly massively pissed off about. He tried to talk to her after (argue, more like), but she brushed him off, instead seeking sanctuary in Flynn’s room, the one place she was pretty sure he wouldn’t follow. 

Flynn himself didn’t happen to be there, at least at the moment, so she took the opportunity to study the small space. True, she had spent the night here once, but she had been very, very drunk, and not terribly observant. 

He was a tidy person. Not that he had very many personal things, not that _any_ of them had a lot of personal things, but what he did possess was arranged neatly. His bed was made. 

She sat on it, pillow in her lap. 

She was…fascinated by him, she decided. He was darkly complex and a little ruined and she loved the way he looked when he laughed and he could hold her like she was made of porcelain. 

The door opened. 

She turned, offered him a small smile to offset his surprised expression. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, but gently. 

She shrugged. “Hiding.”

And now he looked amused. “From Wyatt?” 

“Guilty.” 

He snorted out a quiet laugh, then sat in his chair. “You do know he has a point, yes?”

“I know,” she conceded easily. “I’m still going.” 

In a gesture of surrender, he raised his hands. “I’m not trying to talk you out of it.” Then he sobered. “But I’m not letting you out of my sight when we’re gone,” he said. 

She nodded. “Fine.” In her current frame of mind, this was an excellent compromise. 

And what _was_ her current mindset? Off the rails? Staring into the abyss? Infatuated? Stupid?

All of the above?

That seemed likely. 

One of the many excellent things about Garcia Flynn was that he was quite comfortable with silence. He simply let her be, let her work through things at her own pace.

Before long, it was time for them to go.

She sighed as she wiggled her way back into her corset and petticoats, newly free of blood and grime. At least her bruises had mostly faded, and what was still there was easily covered with makeup. 

Wyatt was still fuming when she arrived at the Lifeboat, but she ignored him. Flynn, taking in the scene, winked at her. In response, she straightened his cravat. It didn’t particularly need it, but _she_ needed an excuse to put her hands on him, however briefly. 

Jiya, looking as fierce as a goddess, climbed in the pilot’s seat, resolutely flipping switches. 

It was a bit of a wake-up moment for Lucy herself. 

Whatever her personal demons were, at least both of the men in her life were present, whole. She could reach out and touch both of them. Yes, there were issues, significant issues, but they were alive. 

And Jiya had not slept next to the man she loved for years. Did not know if she would ever do so again. 

It put a lot of her own problems in perspective. 

As well as her fears. 

She clicked the buckles on her harness, then reached over and squeezed Jiya’s arm. “This is going to work,” she whispered. 

“I know,” the other woman replied, utterly certain. 

_Did_ she know? Had she seen? 

God, she hoped that was the case, for all their sakes. 

The whirring of mechanical coils made her close her eyes. Her teeth started to rattle. The sense of time thinning made the tiny hairs on her arms stand up. Would there ever be a time where this would be normal? She deeply hoped not. 

And then they were gone. 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

 

He was not sure what was going to happen on this mission. True, they had a plan, something his new team usually went out of their way to avoid. 

This did not mean it was a _good_ plan. 

Still, despite deep reservations, he was buckled into the Lifeboat, ready to cross back to a time he had already been. 

Lucy was next to him, her eyes closed.

And that, he supposed, was reason enough for him to be here.

She had been…different towards him in recent weeks. Enough so that it was wreaking havoc on his heart. He had no idea if she…liked him…but he was fairly certain she was seeing him in a new sort of light than she had before. 

She trusted him, felt like she could turn to him.

And, well, she _could_ trust him. _Could_ turn to him. 

In any capacity she wanted. 

Time ripped open, and he shut his eyes instinctively as he was dragged through it. When the spinning stopped, he resisted the urge to put his head between his knees. This Lifeboat was truly a terrible prototype.

He followed Wyatt and Jiya out, then reached up for Lucy, hands going to her waist. Without hesitation, she let him lift her out, one arm half-hooked around his neck

Wyatt looked annoyed that he hadn’t thought of it. 

 

Lucy held onto him for perhaps two seconds more than she needed to. He did not let go until after she did. 

 

She looked around. “We…I mean, our past selves, won’t be here for another day. Do you think we could just leave a note for Rufus? “Stay in the Lifeboat or you will literally die,” or something of that nature?” 

He snorted, taking in the scenery. If one was being a romantic, he supposed the sights would have been beautiful. All it did was remind him of what they had lost the last time they were here, reminded him of Lucy’s battered face.

She was standing close enough to him that her skirts brushed his leg. 

Wyatt was watching them with clearly growing irritation. “Can we get going? We only have a day to make this work.” He turned and began walking off, towards the city skyline they could barely see above the trees.

He shrugged, gestured for Lucy to go first, then matched his pace to hers. Her eyes were on Jiya, a few feet in front of them. 

“It must be working,” she whispered, and he tilted his head towards hers. 

“What’s working?” he asked. 

“This plan. I mean, Jiya is technically already here. We’re already crossing her lifeline.” 

That was true, and he studied the other woman for a moment. She looked normal, perfectly fine. The Wyatt and Lucy of the future had given them a roadmap of upgrades to the Lifeboat. One or more of them had clearly worked. 

San Francisco was precisely how they had left it. 

They rented two hotel rooms a few doors down from Jiya’s saloon. The man at the front desk assumed he was looking at two married couples. No one bothered to correct him. 

He and Wyatt had done a brief reconnaissance around the block. Everything appeared to be normal, but they both knew that things could change in a heartbeat. Wyatt was clearly making an effort to be…well, perhaps not friendly, but at least not openly hostile. He understood - it was time to do their duty. Personal dislikes would have to wait.

When they returned, he found Lucy staring out the window of the hotel room, posture rigid. He stood behind her, not touching, but close enough that she knew he was there. Then he followed her gaze.

Her mother and Emma were making their way across the street, both dressed in period clothes, deep in conversation. 

Christ. 

The mother that Lucy would watch die. _Had_ already watched die. 

Lucy took a half step back, and he gently rested a hand on her waist. “There’s nothing that says we can’t try to save her, too,” he said, softly.

After a long moment, Lucy shook her head. “No,” she breathed. 

It was a hell of a decision to make.

“Lucy,” he whispered, but she stopped him. 

“No,” she said again, but with more ferocity, and he was silent. He could see the set of her jaw. A quiver went through it. Then she turned towards him, leaned forward until her forehead rested against his chest, eyes closed, hands pressed flat to his stomach. 

Startled and grateful, he cupped her elbows in his palms, a little afraid to hold her properly. Lucy’s breathing was steady, even, and he was aware that she was deliberately measuring each inhalation. 

“I should have thought about this,” she whispered. “I don’t know why it never crossed my mind that she would be here, too.”

“No one would blame you if you wanted to change history again,” he murmured back. “She’s your mother, even after all of this.” His breath stirred the tiny wisps of hair at her temple. 

“She wasn’t,” Lucy told him. “At the end, her regrets were only about Rittenhouse. That was not the woman who raised me, the woman I thought I knew.” 

He gathered his courage, ran his thumb down her spine. “Emma shot her because she was trying to save you.” 

Lucy squeezed her eyes tighter. He could feel the motion against his chest. “One final act of redemption,” she said, voice bitter. “It’s not enough.” 

There were footsteps on the stairs behind them. Wyatt, or Jiya, almost certainly. Lucy stepped back, wiped at her face, then absently brushed at what he thought was a smudge of makeup on his shirt.

“Sorry,” she whispered. 

He half-smiled. “I don’t mind.”

She met his eyes, deep and fathomless. “I know you don’t.”

He held her gaze, serious now. “As long as you do,” he told her. 

She took another step back as the door opened, Wyatt ducking inside, Jiya behind him.

There was a small, awkward silence. 

“Everything’s in place,” Jiya finally said, and everyone turned gratefully to her. “In just over twelve hours, we’re on.” 

The afternoon passed slowly. When darkness fell, they went down to the dining room in the hotel. To his surprise, the food was excellent, despite his lack of appetite. Beside him, Lucy appeared to just be pushing her food from one side of her plate to the other.

He frowned. She was nearly too thin as it was. 

Underneath the table, he could feel her leg bouncing. She was suffering from an excess of energy and emotions, and after their meal, he tugged at her arm. 

“Let’s go for a walk,” he said. “You need to get out of here.” 

Gratitude flitted across her face, and she nodded.

“Be back soon,” Lucy said in the general direction of Wyatt and Jiya.

The outside air was cool, the darkness providing a sense of protection. As they rounded the first corner, away from where their mission would take them tomorrow, he offered Lucy his arm.

She took it, and he was reminded of another, different time. Of Chicago, and how different their relationship had been then. 

“Do you think this is going to work?” she asked suddenly.

He shrugged. “A month ago we had no chance, no hope at all. And now…” It was better than nothing, he supposed, but not by a great deal.

Did he have misgivings? Certainly. But they were here now, all of them. Lucy’s reasons for insisting on being with them were some that he needed time to sort through. 

She said there were things she didn’t want to forget. 

He strongly suspected one of those things was the moment they had shared in the warehouse after Emma had fled. How could he have told her no, he didn’t think she should make the trip, when she was telling him that she wanted to remember the one time she had been in his arms?

It was impossible. 

It had definitely gone against his better judgement, but in the end, he supposed he was just a man. 

They walked in silence to the waterfront, the scent of fish settling around them, just like the mist that had come in, shrouding their views.

Lucy appeared lost in thought, fingers still wrapped around his arm, letting him guide her wherever he chose. Eventually he turned them around, heading for safer territory. 

“Should we tell Wyatt that his wife is likely here?” he asked, as much as he disliked bringing the subject up. It still caused Lucy pain, after all. 

Which led to causing him pain, because it forced him to face the fact that the woman he loved was likely still in love with someone else.

Lucy considered his question. “Probably,” she finally conceded. “But maybe not. I don’t…” she hesitated. “I don’t think I trust him to make the right decisions where she’s concerned.” She said it as though she was admitting to treason, and perhaps for her, she felt like it was. 

He nodded. “We were all idiots for not thinking of these things before.

Her lips quirked up slightly. “I think we were all just so desperate to get Rufus back that everything else took a back burner.” 

“Including our common sense?” he asked.

She gave him a full smile. “That’s the thing about time travel,” she told him. “It sort of makes things like common sense go out the window.” 

She wasn’t wrong, but he was still irritated with himself. 

The lights of their hotel were in view now. With Emma and Carol wandering the city, it was probably their best, safest bet to get inside. Still, he was loathe to let Lucy go, even if they would spend the rest of their night together in some sort of manner. 

It was just…he didn’t usually get to touch her when there were other people around.

No one slept that night. 

Instead, they played poker for hairpins, the outer pieces of their costumes strewn over beds and dressers. 

Jiya won, to no one’s surprise.

After, dawn beginning to peek through the curtains, he and Wyatt traded war stories, times where they shouldn’t have survived but did, times where things had gone so absurdly wrong that it could have been a parody.

It was important, this sense of camaraderie, when going into such a dangerous situation. He and Wyatt did not precisely have good feelings between them. First, there were Wyatt’s orders to kill him, and then he himself _may_ have kidnapped Lucy, or led Wyatt and Rufus to a serial killer. Or, perhaps, it had little to do with the admittedly bad things he had done, and more to do with the woman who was currently trying to re-pin her hair, and where her affections now were. 

The rest of their morning went by both quickly and unbearably slowly. 

And then it was time to go, and everything flashed by in a heartbeat.

They saw themselves walk down the dusty road, dressed exactly the way they were now, with a very alive Rufus at their side. No one breathed.

Later, things went even quicker. 

He saw himself take the bullet to his shoulder, but there was no time to wince in sympathy. He raised his gun, aimed carefully. If he missed, Wyatt would take the shot, too. 

But he did not miss. 

Emma did. 

And history changed. 

Right on cue, just as Jiya had arranged the night before, her colleagues appeared in the door of the saloon, dragging Wyatt and Jiya’s past selves back inside. 

From the shadows, their present selves emerged. 

Later, he would look back and wonder how the hell this had ever worked. But it did. 

An hour later, Rufus, Jiya, and Wyatt were safely loaded into the Lifeboat, Rufus looking…alarmed. An understandable thing, under the circumstances.

The Lifeboat whirred, and he and Lucy stepped back. 

“Four hours,” he said quietly, when the woods around them were silent. 

“Four hours,” she echoed. 

She looked up at him. She looked…happy, he decided. They had succeeded. Rufus was, just now, coming home to 2018 and the people and world that needed him. 

Jiya got the love of her life back.

They _all_ got their friend back, their teammate.

Yes, he supposed she had good reason to be happy.

Slowly, he smiled at her. Her own smile started small, then grew. Unexpectedly, she stepped forward and hugged him. He wrapped his arms around her narrow back, cheek against the top of her head. And _God_ , this was perfect. 

This was the second time she had been in his arms, the first time where she wasn’t crying. “I can’t believe that worked,” she whispered to his shoulder. 

He chuckled. “Me either.” 

After another long moment, Lucy took a step backwards, though not a large one. He wanted her back instantly. 

She smiled at him again. “So, what’s the plan?” 

He let out a breath, looking around. They were secluded here, hopefully safely. But it was going to be an uncomfortable wait. “The plan,” he told her, “is to stay alive until Rufus or Jiya comes back to get us.” 

“Right,” she said. “Stay alive for four hours. How hard could that be?”

He took a second to arch a brow at her. “I wish you wouldn’t say things like that,” he said. “You’re setting the universe a personal challenge.” He was more than slightly serious, but she laughed. 

Five minutes later, they were both settled beneath a large tree, their backs to its rough trunk. It was a good spot, he decided. They would be able to clearly see and hear when time bent, but they were a few rows into the woods, the idea of being more hidden appealing to his instincts. 

After another half hour, sitting in comfortable silence, Lucy slowly tipped her head to his shoulder. He hardly dared move. 

Then she yawned. “Sorry,” she told him. “I’m suddenly exhausted.” 

He understood that; no one had slept the night before, and in the aftermath of adrenaline and shock and relief…well, of course she was tired. 

Gently, he nudged her knee with his. “You can sleep,” he said, hoping she could hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll keep watch.” 

She didn’t argue, which told him a great deal. 

He shifted, displacing her slightly, but then shrugged out of his jacket before draping it around her shoulders. What passed for cold in California didn’t really bother him. 

Lucy returned her head to its place on her shoulder, but this time, she wrapped both of her arms around one of his. 

And suddenly four hours didn’t seem like nearly long enough. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am purposely super vague about what their plan was, mainly because I don't actually know how they're going to do this. So sue me. Wait - don't. I teach at a public high school. You won't get much.


	3. Chapter 3

** Chapter Three **

 

She woke up in darkness, confused as to how she got there. She was…outside? 

Blinking several times, she pushed herself upright, realizing at the last second that she was draped over Flynn’s lap, her head on his thigh, his coat still wrapped around her shoulders. 

One of his hands was at her waist, large and solid and reassuring. 

In the starlight, he smiled at her. 

Oh. 

San Francisco. 

Rufus. 

She sucked in a steadying breath. “How long have I been asleep?” she asked, voice rough. 

Flynn shrugged. “About two hours, I’d say.” 

She nodded. Two hours to go then, before the Lifeboat would hopefully come back for them. She tried to not think about all of the things that could still go wrong between now and then, at either end of the time spectrum. Rittenhouse, power failures, and rogue 19th century criminals flashed through her mind, regardless. 

Her body was slightly stiff from lying on the ground, and she levered herself upwards, one hand on Flynn’s shoulder for balance. He watched her curiously as she stretched.

“I’m not really an outdoor girl,” she told him. “Sleeping on the ground isn’t my thing.” Even if she’d had the benefit of a large Croatian man acting as a pillow. 

He smirked. “You’re not an outdoor girl?” he echoed. “I never would have guessed.” 

She made a face at him, which made him laugh, which made _her_ smile. Flynn didn’t laugh much, and rarely with anyone but her. She took a moment to wonder what he had been like, before. In some of his unguarded moments, she could see hints of playfulness, remnants of a man who smiled easily, joked a great deal. 

It made her sad that that person didn’t really exist anymore.    
Then again, it wasn’t like _she_ was the same person she had been, either. A year and a half ago, she had been an untenured professor, worried about a mother with cancer and a sister who didn’t seem to have much of a direction to head in. 

And now…

She was some sort of time traveling vigilante, who flirted with Robert Todd Lincoln, broke wanted terrorists out of prison, and lived in an underground bunker. 

From somewhere over her left shoulder, there was the sound of rustling, like someone or something was making their way through the undergrowth. In a flash, Flynn had pulled her down, one arm around her like a vise, the other resting on the handle of his weapon. 

Blood rushing in her ears, she watched with wide eyes, staring out into the darkness. It crossed her mind that black and white stripes were probably pretty damn visible, and so was Flynn’s white shirt. 

She didn’t breathe. 

What seemed like an hour passed by, but in reality it was likely no more than a minute.

The rustling got louder, and she felt her muscles contracting, felt herself silently press closer to Flynn. She gave into panic and closed her eyes, hiding her face in his neck.

Abruptly, she felt his muscles relax, and his right hand moved from his gun to cup the back of her head for a moment. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “Look,” he went on, and she turned. “It’s a deer.” 

And damned if it wasn’t. 

Perhaps fifty feet away, she could _just_ see the thing, gamboling in the moonlight, white spots visible even at this distance. 

“It’s a baby,” she breathed. 

Flynn moved, chin brushing her hair, and she suddenly realized she was practically on top of him, his arm keeping her close. 

She could hear his heart beating. Finally. 

A little faster than was probably normal, but there was a good reason for it. It still sounded steady, though. Reliable. 

Just like the man himself. 

In front of them, the deer caught their scent and bounded off. She didn’t move, didn’t let go of him. For his part, Flynn seemed disinclined to move. 

She sighed, rested her cheek against his shoulder. Her muscles were shaky in the aftermath of adrenaline rushing through her, and she could feel herself trembling slightly. 

Flynn noticed, shifted his hold on her. 

“Doing all right?” he asked. 

She shrugged. “Probably.” She could hear the rumble of his laugh within his chest. It seemed almost unbearably intimate. Then again, this _all_ did, sitting here, nearly in his lap, his coat _and_ his arms around her. 

And, oh God, she didn’t want him to let go. 

He didn’t. 

Instead, he gently ran a hand up and down her back, occasionally pausing to circle his thumb around tense spots in her shoulders. 

It wasn’t fair - how easy this was. Being like this with him.

“How much do you think we changed history?” he asked. “By saving Rufus?” 

She shook her head. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Since we saved him, will Denise and Mason not remember our future selves showing up?” 

She could _feel_ him thinking. Then, “Damned if I know.” 

Her laugh was unexpected. “I hope we don’t have to deal with post-apocalypse us again. It makes me feel weird.” 

He nodded. “I can only keep track of one Lucy at a time,” he agreed, and she chuckled again. 

Then she sighed, another thought occurring to her. “One of these days, we’re going to have to sit down and write that journal, aren’t we?” 

Flynn’s fingers touched the ends of her hair. “We?”

She looked up at him. “Yes,” she said. “We. I don’t know what’s in the thing, after all.” 

He furrowed his brows, thinking again. “So you think that-“

“I think that we wrote it together,” she told him. “I mean, I think that we _will_ write it together. Clearly we haven’t yet. But I need to know what’s in it,” she went on. “I need to know what to write that will cause you to make the same decisions you did before.” 

The idea that this would be a team effort had plainly not occurred to him until now. Slowly, he nodded. “You could be right,” he conceded. Then he snorted. “I give myself some terrible advice, in that case.” 

“Don’t feel bad,” she teased, patting his chest. “Seems like I give you some terrible advice, too.” Sobering slightly, she turned a little, further into him. “I’d still like to know why it had to be you.”

She could feel him looking down at her. “Why what had to be me?”

She shrugged. “Why I had to give the journal to you. Specifically you. You’re definitely not the only person whose life Rittenhouse has ruined. Probably not the only one who was a solider and a spy. You’re also a little bit of a dramatic pain in the ass sometimes,” she added, teasing. “So what made me find _you_?” 

He was very still for a moment. “I don’t know,” he finally said, quietly. “One more thing to wait and see about.” 

In the darkness, wrapped up with him this way, she was beginning to have a strong suspicion of _why_ it had been him, but it was far too early for those sorts of thoughts. 

The silence between them lengthened, not uncomfortable, but thoughtful. The ground she was on was starting to get damp from condensation and mist, and she pulled Flynn’s coat tighter. 

She wondered about what he had said earlier, about how much they had changed the past. In this new history, she had never chased down Emma. 

Except she had. 

She had never known what it felt like when someone intended to beat her to death.

Except she did. 

She had never cried on Flynn’s shoulder. 

Except she had. 

The past was a strange thing, and these alternate lifetimes were headache inducing. 

At least she had never lost those memories. 

And if she hadn’t gone back, she wouldn’t have _this_ memory, of her, and Flynn, and his heartbeat against her cheek in the darkness. She let her arm fall to his waist, curled herself closer. 

“Cold?” he whispered, lips brushing the top of her head. 

She nodded, but she wasn’t cold at all. 

She closed her eyes again. He wasn’t going to let anything hurt her. 

“Maybe an hour left until we can start expecting our ride home,” he said. 

“Thank you for staying back with me,” she told him. 

“Of course,” he replied. “But you know that you could have taken Wyatt’s spot in the Lifeboat, yes?” 

Eyes still closed, she raised a brow. “And left you and Wyatt to hang out here for four hours? I’m not sure we would have even needed to send the Lifeboat back to get you, because you would have killed each other.” 

While it was true they tended to put aside their differences in the heat of battle, it hadn’t been very long ago when they were both trying ardently to beat the hell out of each other. She also knew she had more than a little to do with the animosity, especially these days, and she was far too grown up to relish the idea of grown men fighting over her. 

Flynn snorted. “Like Wyatt has the ability to kill me.” 

God, of course he would say that. Some things just didn’t change. 

Annoyed now, she flicked him. “Well, I’m not going to cross my own lifeline again because the two of you can’t get along. It’s much safer this way.”

She felt him let out a breath, stretching his legs out in front of him. “If you say so.” His voice sounded a little different now.

She considered. “You do know I’d come back for you, too, right?” she asked. 

The moment felt very…heavy. “Would you?” he replied, and she could read nothing in his tone. Conversely, that told her a great deal. 

“Yes,” she said, simply. She waited for the words to sink in. “I don’t,” she started, trying to phrase this correctly, “I don’t think I could get along without you very well anymore.” 

He turned his head towards her, trying to read her expression. Usually he was very good at it, but she knew these were different circumstances. He wanted her to mean it, wanted it badly, but because of that, he was unlikely to actually trust what he saw in her face. 

“Hey,” she said softly, nudging him. “You’ve saved me a thousand times in the past few months, physically, mentally, and every other way you could think of. I’m not going to give you up that easily.” 

She gave him a full minute to process what she was saying, patience suddenly infinite. Though she wished he would say something. 

Anything, really. 

Instead, he moved, reaching out to gently take her face in his palm. Was it her imagination, or was his hand trembling? 

His thumb traced her jawline. She held perfectly still, not wanting to scare him off, wanting him to know that he could do this, that she wanted him to do this. 

Slowly, he bent forward, resting his forehead against hers. “You don’t have to,” he said. “Give me up.” 

Her heart seemed to be beating much too fast. Could he hear it? Did it matter? She turned her head to the side, pressed a kiss to his wrist. 

And, God, he was definitely trembling now.

How long had he gone with no one wanting him? With no one who gave a damn if he lived or died? With no one touching him?

It made her heart hurt. 

Making up her mind, she slid over, settling in his lap. His arms went around her slowly, like he was moving underwater. And his face…oh, the expression on it. Like he thought he was dreaming. 

She tipped his head up, rested her hands on either side of his face. She could see the pulse in the hollow of his throat. Thundering. Absolutely thundering. 

With gentle, feather-light touches, she ran her fingers over his jaw, his cheekbones, his temples. Pushed his dark hair off his forehead. Pulled him into her embrace, his face against her neck, her arms around his shoulders. 

His breathing was unsteady, grip bordering on too tight. 

And she relished every second. 

The sudden burst of wind startled her, and she jumped, Flynn automatically raising his head. 

The wind didn’t stop. Instead, it gathered speed, and they both stood, knowing what this meant. Regardless, he stepped slightly in front of her. 

One blinding flash of light later, the Lifeboat appeared, outer coils still spinning. They waited until the door opened. 

Jiya materialized at the hatch, Rufus just visible behind her in the pilot’s seat. Of course, she wasn’t likely to let Rufus out of her sight, not now, not after everything they had all been through. 

“Are you two ready to go?” she called. “Because I, personally, would like to never see this time period ever again.” 

It should have been a joke. It was not.

They crossed to the Lifeboat, Flynn’s hand at her back.

And, God, there was a lot they were going to have talk about. But later. They could do it later.

As the saying went, they had all the time in the world.

All wrapped up in one seriously ugly hunk of metal. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter Four

There was no time to talk to Lucy after they returned to the present. Celebration mode was in full swing, Rufus’s resurrection being toasted with beer and whatever hard liquor they could get their hands on. 

Lucy looked happy, he decided. After all, Rufus was a close friend of hers, had been at her side as they navigated the messy business of saving the world. 

She also, he noticed, spent a great deal of time at _his_ side. 

Oh, it wasn’t anything obvious, but by seemingly casual coincidence, she was there when he looked up. 

It was playing havoc with his nerves. 

After what had happened in San Francisco, after she had held him and admitted that she didn’t want to be without him… God, the only thing he wanted to do was lock them both in a room and make her say it again. 

And then be touched by her again. 

Her hands in his hair, arms around his shoulders. She had smelled so very good, felt so very soft, her insubstantial weight in his lap. 

He wanted her back. 

But he also had to admit that it was wonderful to see her smile, to laugh openly, some of the burdens of grief and loss removed from her narrow shoulders. 

He wondered what all of this meant, where these choices they were making were going to lead them. But if this job had taught him anything, it was that no one had any comprehension of what effect small actions could have on the future. 

Lucy was at his side again, smiling up at him, fingers wrapped around a beer bottle. He grinned back at her, clinked his own bottle against hers. 

It was possible, he conceded, that it would be alright if they were all just _happy_ tonight. 

An hour or so later, he was laying across his narrow bed, one arm behind his head, contemplating the abstract designs years of wear had left on his ceiling. If he let his eyes go out of focus, he could imagine the whorls on the far left side of the room looked a bit like Van Gogh’s _Starry Night_. 

The knock on his door was soft. So soft, he wondered if he imagined it. 

He had badly wanted to hear it, after all. 

He let out a breath, and only then realized how tense he had been. 

“It’s open,” he called, something he would have never done if he hadn’t been sure who was on the other side. 

And sure enough, Lucy appeared in the doorway, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She closed the door behind her.

“Did I wake you?” she asked quietly. 

He shook his head, eyes drinking her in. “Everything alright?” he murmured. 

It was pro forma. They both knew what she was doing here. 

His arms ached with the need to hold her. 

“Everything is fine,” she whispered. 

She had been brave earlier, when they were in the past. It was his turn now. He held out a hand. “Come here,” he breathed. “And turn off the lights.” 

To his immense surprise, she did. Her fingers were cold where they wrapped around his in the darkness. She kept the blanket around her shoulders as she curled into his chest, cheek against his heartbeat. 

He pulled her close, then closer still, his hands practically covering her narrow back, their legs tangled together. 

It was as close to heaven as he expected to get these days. 

No one spoke. No one needed to. 

Lucy shifted a little, and he ran a hand through her hair. In the darkness, her skin was luminous. Touching her was taking a great deal of courage. 

It was difficult to be brave enough to reach for what he wanted most, more so because he knew he didn’t deserve her at all. Was not remotely good enough for her. 

But she was in his arms. Willingly, she had come to him. 

He was eternally grateful that she had found the courage for it. 

He bowed his head, softly pressed a kiss to her hair. It was difficult to tell, but he thought she smiled. 

With one hand, he pulled the blankets over both of them, his other arm still locked firmly around her. Their body heat, collecting under the covers, was immensely pleasant, and Lucy sighed as he winnowed his fingers through her hair again. He took it as his cue to continue doing so. 

He was still gently stroking her hair when she fell asleep, her breathing even, entire body relaxed against his. 

Did he close his eyes? Give into the yearning to sleep next to her? Or did he stay awake to remember? To keep guard over her at her most vulnerable? 

In the end, the idea that he could wake up to her in his bed made the decision for him, and he kissed her forehead before closing his eyes, her warm, precious weight pulling him under. 

The morning arrived in a haze of gray light. It looked cold, but the temperature in his bed was anything but. 

Lucy had rolled to her side, and he had unconsciously followed, mirroring her position. At some point in the night, their fingers had laced together, his knees tucked behind hers. 

She was awake, he could tell by her breathing, by her thumb gently running up and down beside his. Her hands looked so tiny next to his, delicate and pale. It was amazing - the damage they could do. 

In fact, that one, small motion of fingers brushing was wrecking him. 

God, he hoped she never stopped. 

“Good morning,” he whispered to the back of her neck, dark hair stirring. 

“Good morning,” she replied warmly, snuggling closer. 

Could this possibly be happening? 

“Sleep well?” he asked. 

He could hear the smile in her voice. “Very well,” she told him. 

He’d slept well, too, a miracle in and of itself. No nightmares, no hours whiled away staring at the darkness in his mind. Just…just peace. 

The silence between them lengthened, but it too was peaceful.

Eventually Lucy turned towards him again, lovely face bare of makeup. To him, it was the most beautiful she had ever been. He strongly suspected it had to do with her waking up in his arms. 

He offered her a broad grin, which she returned before tucking herself against his chest. One of his arms stayed at her waist, his free hand tracing lines over her back. 

“Do we have to get up?” she asked once. 

He smiled again. “Well, I certainly don’t have any pressing appointments to get to,” he told her. Indeed, there was very little in this world that was more important to him than this moment, this woman. 

Lucy closed her eyes again, rubbed her cheek against his t-shirt. 

He touched his lips to her temple. 

He wanted to kiss her. Properly. 

Did he have the right? 

God, maybe? 

Lucy looked up at him, probably reacting to the tension she could feel in him, eyes dark and wide open. 

_Can I kiss you?_

He didn’t dare look at her lips. 

Her expression altered slightly, a trace of…expectation…he thought, now present. Please, God, let it be expectation. 

Moving slowly, afraid of making a misstep, he touched her face, fingers brushing her cheekbone. She didn’t take her eyes off of him. 

Resisting her was now impossible. 

He lowered his head, giving her all the time in the world to duck away. 

But she didn’t. 

He kept the pressure of his lips feather-light, undemanding. It hardly mattered - the blood was roaring in his ears, heart beating fiercely, fingers trembling where they rested against her skin. 

And then she tilted her head, lips slightly parted, and kissed him back. 

He had no idea how long it lasted. Five minutes, an hour? All he knew is that her mouth was sweet and open and she was underneath him and that her hands were in his hair. 

When he raised his head, his hands on either side of hers, she smiled at him, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, he amended his earlier thought - _this_ was the most beautiful she had ever been to him. Sleep rumpled and well-kissed.

He grinned back, well aware that he looked like a besotted fool. It was what he was, after all. 

An hour later, he found Lucy at the kitchen table, absorbed in a book, her fingers wrapped around a chipped white enamel mug. This new safe house they were in was both better and worse than the last one. It was slightly less depressing, what with having actual windows where they could occasionally see sunlight, but it was even shabbier than the bunker. 

Maybe their next safe house would have previously belonged to some sort of wealthy drug dealer who had a pool and a hot tub. Somehow he doubted it. 

He sat across from Lucy, shamelessly staring. She was just so lovely. 

She looked up suddenly, met his eyes, and blushed a bit. She was also, he noted with quiet delight, wearing one of his sweaters, the sleeves turned back several times. 

Still, he was inclined to think it looked stunning on her. 

He picked up one of her hands, kissed the back of it. 

Her smile left him breathless. 

_I adore you_. _I love you_. 

Emma had decided to take a break from trying to take over the world, at least for now, so the remainder of their day was peaceful. Or as peaceful as they could manage, given the circumstances. 

Like the fact that Lucy’s ex-boyfriend (who utterly hated him) who still loved her but was married to a member of the organization that had murdered his family lived in the same house. That sort of thing. 

After dinner, they had watched Rufus and Jiya have some sort of Xbox tournament involving spacemen shooting each other with lasers. Lucy, book in hand, had curled up in one corner of the battered couch, Agent Christopher next to her. He had sat on the floor at her feet, occasionally tipping his head up to talk to her. Once, he felt her fingers surreptitiously slide through his hair.

It was as close as they were going to get to domesticity for a while. 

Though she didn’t come out and advertise it, she did not sneak into his room that night. He kissed her thoroughly, then held her for the next six hours. 

Her hands slipped beneath his shirt, and he prayed he had the willpower to resist her if it came to that. It wasn’t as though he didn’t want her - he did, _badly_ \- but he wanted, needed, her to be sure. If they crossed that line, if he knew what it felt like to be inside her, and she changed her mind, it would kill him. 

Better to not know what he would have to live without for the rest of his life. 

For the second time in two days, he woke with her in his arms. Already he knew he was fighting for this, fighting for a lifetime of lazy mornings. 

Lucy nuzzled into his neck, and he didn’t bother to disguise the shiver that she caused. He did pay her back, however, and she laughed as his eyelashes tickled her. It was a good sound, a happy sound. He wanted to hear it more. 

He taught her how to shoot a pistol properly that morning, the knowledge that she would likely need that skill weighing heavily on him. She was a terrible shot, but by the end of the lesson, she could hit her target at least five times out of ten. 

Something they needed to work on, certainly. 

Lucy tangled their fingers together as they walked back to the safe house. Did not let go when they encountered Jiya…and her very knowing smile. 

That was the trouble with living with a seer, he decided, then realized how utterly ridiculous his life was. 

Then again, he thought, as Lucy stretched onto her toes to kiss him, perhaps the ridiculous had some benefits. 

Yes, he concluded, his back now against the wall of the house, Lucy flush against him, his hands resting heavily on her hips, there were definitely benefits.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
